Skip to main content

Splitting Hairs



    I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned my hair a few times. I think we need to delve into it a bit further. You see, when it takes a $200 trip off-Island to get a haircut, or new underpants for that matter, you take a haircut seriously. Besides, when you’ve got the broad shoulders and the wide hips, you rely on your hair as a sort of aphrodisiac, if you know what I mean.
                I’ve been thinking about a haircut for about 8 months now. Did I mention life chugs along pretty slowly around these parts, giving me plenty of time for watching paint dry or the grass grow? Anyhow, I came to the decision that I should go ahead and do it even though more than one woman here told me she left her last appointment at the hair salon in tears. Hey, it takes more than a crappy haircut for me to turn on the waterworks. And naturally I consider tears over a haircut pretty much wasted. There are so many other crappy things to cry over, so I try to save my tears for things that have a heartbeat. So I made the appointment and I went last weekend.
                Oh, and yes, I did have a slight situation which prompted me to pick up the phone and call Maggie’s Salon. You see, I’ve spent a year looking like a half-moon cookie with half of my hair gray and the other half a deep auburn from L’Oreal because I was so worth it. Basically my hair was two-toned. I’m painting a pretty picture I know. In an effort to address the bottom red half, I enlisted my husband’s help. A couple of weeks ago I went down into his sewing room and stood stone-still while he took a hank of my hair in his hand and cut it off with upholstery shears. And he did a pretty good job - no more dark auburn, just a nice, flat gray with some white thrown in. I would have kept it that way but I just couldn’t get that Dutch Boy paint can out of my mind and so I decided to make the call to Maggie’s.
                I had a lovely hairdresser named Theresa who filled me in on lots of town news. Her ex-husband is a bit of a folk legend around these parts. Her second husband is a much better fit, she said. I digress. So, I told Theresa I want to look like Meg Ryan. Her hair only, because I know there’s no real chance of me ever looking like any other aspect of her. I hear she lives around here part time and some say she’s a little too thin these days. What I wouldn’t give for that description.
                The results were not exactly the same as Meg’s – I was going for her hair in “You’ve Got Mail” – but I do like it. It’s about as good as it’s gonna get. My husband is going to take a picture of it real soon so I can share it here. It would be up already but when I asked him to take the picture today, he informed me that “Now isn’t a real good time.” I’m still pondering what the hell that means. He assured me that he would take it but that I would not be happy with the outcome. Hmmmm….

There is only one cure for gray hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.
P. G. Wodehouse


Comments

Tyler Thrasher said…
I love this, so many ideas and things to think about when I finally get around to customizing my blog!
Tyler Thrasher said…
I love this, so many ideas and things to think about when I finally get around to customizing my blog!
Connie Berry said…
Thanks Tyler! Will look for your blog:)
Deb said…
I hope you picked up some new underpants while you were off-island. :)
Connie Berry said…
You know I always wear my sister's hand-me-downs:)

Popular posts from this blog

Getting well takes baby steps

So I’ve had what you could call a case of the pneumonia. It was not pleasant. And to top it off it happened in San Antonio, Texas. Like I wasn’t sweating before the fever.
I was there to see my niece Michelle, who by the way kept asking me, “Are you going to write about this?” which is funny because she’s a writer too. I naturally said, “Oh no, of course not.” And here we are.
Thinking back, the best part of that trip teeters between meeting my two great-nephews, Oliver and Isaac, and having a couple of beers with their Yaya, my sister, who I haven’t had beers with in decades. Like I said, it’s a toss-up. There’s also the fact that I got to spend time with my niece’s husband Alex. He’s a hardcore military guy. He teaches other military guys how to be military policemen. I’m not going to gamble on writing anything about him. He’s from Wisconsin though, which I like. And he likes to cook, which I also like.
I thought to myself before I ever left my nice cocoon of Martha’s Vineyard to tra…

Just sitting around doing jack

I think my blog may have been hijacked. I haven’t written in forever because I’ve been writing …for my job, which may mean I’m no longer a “jobless goddess.” I may just be a regular goddess.
I love the word jack. I could use that all day. Whatever, hopefully those who want to read the blog will read. Back to jack. It’s a cool freaking word. I had a brother-in-law named Jack who pretty much personified the word “cool.” He’s gone too soon and missed by everybody.
There’s Billy Jack, get back Jack, Jack Sprat, Jack Nicholson, Jack Berry, Jack in the Box, Jumping Jack Flash. And my favorite, a little ditty my sister introduced me to, “Jack Mother.” This is a something you say when someone cuts you off on the highway. “I’m sorry officer, I was cut off by that Jack Mother in the blue Subaru.”
My brother Steve has a friend named Jack. I thought he was about the greatest thing ever when I was 12. Who are we kidding? I probably still do. Jackie was hilariously funny and I loved to watch my brot…

Little women

I’m getting a real kick out of my co-workers these days. I’m working with about a half dozen young women — young being the operative word.
They’re all so freaking competent it kills me. They can write like it’s nobody’s business, they all take great photos to go with their stories, and they almost always laugh at my jokes. I call them ‘the girls.’
They’re either about to go to university, just leaving university, or all done with it and on their way. They do yoga and eat a lot of avocados. We live on Martha’s Vineyard and none of them know who John Belushi is but they all know they should keep using the same plastic cup for take out iced coffee over and over and over again. If they see a bug, they think twice before killing it. Actually they leave it for me to kill because they couldn’t possibly… and they know I won’t hesitate.
We get along just fine the girls and me. Oh, there’s a little trouble when I insist on running the window air conditioner up in our second floor office —ramsha…